


No rest for the wicked

by ComfortingAngel



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Aziraphale Has a Penis (Good Omens), Coming In Pants, Crowley Has a Penis (Good Omens), Dom/sub Undertones, Dry Humping, Filthy, M/M, Masturbation, PWP, Sexual Fantasy, Smut, Wet & Messy, pillow humping
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-06
Updated: 2020-07-06
Packaged: 2021-03-04 20:20:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,390
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25112266
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ComfortingAngel/pseuds/ComfortingAngel
Summary: Crowley has been napping, which he loves to do. But he's woken up restless and amorous, so allows his mind to be creative so he can relax again...
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 11
Kudos: 190





	No rest for the wicked

Crowley rolled over for the 17th time and huffed with frustration. There was no point in being awake. Even setting the alarm for July was stupid - everything was still a mess. He would get out of bed when his angel wanted him again, and not before.

He rolled onto his front, pouting at the emptiness of his flat and the thrumming of his busy mind. He'd stripped down to just his black underpants, and they felt course against his skin as Crowley relaxed into his mattress. 

'Mmph,' he said to himself, feeling his cock stir. That might help. He wriggled, remembering his last decent erection. It had popped up while Aziraphale was reading to him in the bookshop, and Crowley had idly wondered if he could get himself off without the angel noticing. It was one of the delights of tight jeans - super friction. Sometimes all he had to do was clench, and his dick would throb and rub, twitch and lurch, until that rush of pleasure hit and his underwear got wet. He'd grin to himself and miracle a good dry-clean. But he'd never done it deliberately in Aziraphale's presence. That felt wrong - even for a demon. There had been one or two accidents, but Crowley had always concealed them - mostly by miracling a cake and distracting his angel. Friction could also be a little inconvenient if you happened to be making an effort.

On this last occasion in the bookshop, he'd kept a cushion in his lap. Desire was fogging his mind. Aziraphale's voice was an aphrodisiac, and Crowley was sitting comfortably, relishing his secret horniness, and knowing if his arousal overwhelmed him, it wouldn't be visible. It felt deliciously naughty. He listened eagerly to that chocolaty voice, but eventually his desire faded into a mellow, red-wine sort of happy stasis, and effort-related pleasures didn't seem so important.

It was the last time he'd seen Aziraphale. And now, a part of him wished he'd said something - done something. With a lick of his lips, Crowley allowed himself to dream...

His mind filled with colour. A honey-warm light, dusty books, and a light tutting coming from his angel, whose blue eyes were twinkling over his reading glasses. 'Crowley,' Aziraphale might have said. 'Is there a reason you're hiding behind that cushion?'

'No?' Crowley would say innocently. But the angel would have pulled the cushion away, and a vivid bulge would take centre stage, straining the black denim.

Aziraphale would tut again. 'Now now, my dear,' he would gently scold, putting his book to one side. 'Can't have that. Totally inappropriate.'

'I'm sorry,' Crowley would utter, terribly ashamed. But his angel would open his arms to him. 

'Come here, you wily serpent. There's something you haven't told me, isn't there?'

That chocolaty voice. Gentle and tender. Firm but fair. And Crowley found himself pulled flush against Aziraphale, who held him like he was the most precious thing in the world. 

Crowley would hide his face in the angel's neck, wrapping his arms around Aziraphale, his delightful sin concealed between them. 

In his flat, Crowley moaned. He was rock hard, his underpants dampened, and was lightly humping the mattress. To be in Aziraphale's arms - the safest place in all of creation - was dizzying. And his mischievous little prick, heaving in his jeans against the angel's soft, warm body... he groaned again. Not quite getting the friction he needed, he reached for his big, firm pillow and stuffed it under himself, tugging his underpants down. This was his favourite pillow. It was just right. He started to rub against it, his body flooding with pleasure as he did. And he thought of...

...back in his honey-coloured dream, Crowley squirmed in his angel's embrace. He'd been caught. 

'Need something?' asked Aziraphale. 'Your corporation seems rather keen, you poor thing. All that effort.' The angel kissed Crowley on the head and ruffled his hair. The demon responded with a soft cry, and rolled his hips against a soft hip.

'Tut tut tut,' said the angel. 'Bad boy. Humping my leg now, is it? Bad puppy.' His hand came down in a light swat on Crowley's bottom.

Crowley groaned and looked up at Aziraphale pitifully. 'Sorry angel. Can't help it.'

But the angel looked down at him with purest love and kindness, and quite a bit of humour. 'Anthony J Crowley. You really will be in quite a bit of trouble, you know.' He chuckled, playfully patting Crowley's behind.

Crowley couldn't help but roll his hips again - and again, with a little whimper.

'Oh _dear_ ,' said Aziraphale. 'I fear for your designer underwear. Are we going to have ourselves a little accident?' 

Crowley moaned, and inside his head, his own voice screamed YES. He started to rut shamelessly. Aziraphale knew exactly what he was about to do, and he wasn't stopping him. He was going to come in his clothes, on his angel.

The rutting continued, Crowley quite animated, and way beyond caring.

Aziraphale breathed in his ear. 'All that slinking about, in these practically painted-on jeans.' Aziraphale put a finger through a belt loop and tugged, which provided a sudden rush of friction, and Crowley grunted. He felt a warm hand firmly cup his bottom, urging him on. 'That's it,' said the voice of an angel. 'You're going to come for me, aren't you, you little devil.'

Crowley was vocalising each thrust, Aziraphale's tight embrace giving him just the right leverage to grind against him. He cried out into the angel's shoulder. 

'Wicked thing,' Aziraphale said, impossibly softly. 'You're going to come so hard. You'll mess your jeans. I know you like to. I know you try to hide it from me. Terrible demon. I shall have to punish you, you know.'

Crowley ground as hard as he could, his dick sliding gloriously inside his dampened underpants, rubbing against his jeans, pressing demandingly against Aziraphale's hip. It was getting very wet. He was going to come. He was going to make such a mess. 

He gave an urgent gasp, then cried out with every thrust as the inevitable swept through him.

'Oh, my demon,' rasped Aziraphale, his voice wavering as he held Crowley tight. 'Wicked thing.'

Crowley's cries became helpless yelps as he flung himself against his angel's form, over and over, humping wildly, and just as Aziraphale predicted, he came so hard he saw all the stars in all the galaxies. Creamy come burst and pulsed endlessly through his underpants and jeans. He moaned through every undulation, relishing the feel of thoroughly creaming his clothes, and adoring the fact that Aziraphale was holding him close, even though he was very wet and had definitely mucked up the angel's trousers. Crowley became limp in his angel's arms, a condemned demon. 

He hair was being stroked, and that voice returned. 'Well, well, my dear. There was a whole universe in there. No wonder you were so needy.'

'Sorry,' murmured Crowley, panting hard. 'I can clean...'

'No, no,' said Aziraphale, his voice catching. 'It's not just you.'

Crowley looked at him in confusion until he noticed his angel was sporting a similar stain in his own crotch. 

'Oh _angel_...' intoned Crowley...

In his London flat, Crowley was flinging himself against his favourite pillow, his underpants still around his lower legs, such was his urgency. He mind was awash with such wonderful visions. Such powerful ideas. He humped and humped, an utter animal, a strangled scream deep in his throat. He was going to come so hard... and so much...

He buried his face in his pillow, shrieked, bucked, and came with a succession of deep grunts. He spurted copiously, soaking his squishy bedfellow as he continued to rut against it, penis trapped under his belly, eking out as much come as he could. What a depraved thrill it was, making such a mess. His angel _should_ punish him.

He moaned, wishing his angel would.

Eventually, he stilled. He lay breathing deeply, with an occasional shiver and an occasional whimper, rather delighted by the mess he'd made. He really did love his pillow. 

And so, with a little wiggle and sparing no thought to the fact he would end up completely stuck to it, he fell into a beautiful deep sleep spreadeagled on top of it, half hoping Aziraphale might come and find him just like that. 


End file.
